


How Josh and Donna R'd the ST

by leiascully



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-30
Updated: 2006-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:26:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Kiss me like the world is ending."</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Josh and Donna R'd the ST

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: _The West Wing_ and all related characters are property of Aaron Sorkin, Thomas Schlamme, and NBC. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

Josh touched her as if he regretted it already, there in the quiet of her apartment. No roommate now to disturb them. No cat to snag its claws in their funeral best spread over her floor. Leo was gone and all she could think was that life had to be affirmed somehow. For Josh. For her. Their universe was spinning off center without Leo's gravity. Leo, whom she had seen mirthful, furious, and grave. Now grave forever. She had touched Josh's hand after the funeral, empty of words, and he had looked at her in this new way they had and driven her home. It had to be now, she thought in wondering despair, it had to be now that he remembers a key on the table. He was gentle and loving and sad and not what she needed.

"This can't be this way," she whispered against his neck as he held her, just the two of them skin on skin as he kissed her shoulder. "Kiss me like the world is ending, Josh, I need to feel alive." She didn't wait for his inevitable guilty hesistation, but kissed him first, kissed him with the longing of eight years of aching proximity. He yielded and yielded and she ran her hands over him desperately and finally when she had almost given up, he kissed her back. It was a blinding thing, both of them already almost out of breath before it began and she saw stars. He had the back of her head cupped in his hands, and his hips jolted against hers and finally she had him where she'd always wanted him, there with her.

She realized she had never had his entire attention focused on her before, not the way it was now where she was up against the wall of her shower with the steam floating around them and the rivulets of water running over his shoulders onto her breasts. She could not tell with the echo of the porcelain which moans were hers and which were his: they leave her lips like fragments of words and come back melded into something whole and fluid. A soundtrack of their passion. She was lost in a bliss of heat, the splash of the water supplementing his artful touch. Her back arched until her shoulders touched the cool wall and he kissed her breast in passing, slowing a little as she gasped and then breathed out on his name. He smiled at her and thrust a few more desperate strokes and she watched him shiver with pleasure, his eyes locked with hers.

And then he was crying into the curve of her neck and she was crying too and it was for the loss of Leo and the pending loss of the weary President and the loss of so many years and every thing they'd given up along the way. They were tears for victory and tears for the simple joy of seeing each other again every morning. They wept together until the hot water ran out and she was shielded by his body from the shock of cooling. She reached to turn off the water and then toweled him off, his invaluable head with its halo of curls turned into a crown of thorns by the water, and the lean muscles of his back and arms. He found a new towel to dry her, a little awkward with his hands as if she were such a precious thing, and then they lay in her bed together in the faintly chilly air of her apartment with the heat still radiating from their skins. He had his hand on her bare hip with his forearm touching down the length of her thigh. She had her hands folded under her head.

She wanted to say thank you, but she knew he'd take it the wrong way. Instead she waited.

"Next time..." he started, and his fingers tightened a little over her hip bone. "Next time can we do romance? I had ideas about how it would be."

"Next time," she agreed, "and the time after that, and any time it strikes us, we can do romance."

"'Kay," he said, and smiled, and kissed her, gentle and perfect there in her bed. She rolled over and let his hand slide across her belly as she pulled the comforter from the floor and fluffed it over them. And then they slept, not quite as easy as old lovers, but with some kind of knowledge already, that she slept like this, that he could arrange himself like that and they could be with each other in their separate dreams.

And if they belonged to me instead of Wells and Co., that's what would happen!


End file.
